We’re nearly late for the morning’s first lesson – by the time one of us thinks to check the time there are only five minutes until Alchemy, and we can’t just abandon the meeting room with torn envelopes and papers scattered all over the floor. Edward doesn’t want to get into trouble for not leaving the room tidy; he’s worried about losing the privilege of being able to reserve meeting rooms.

“I think the Board of Governors are more afraid of my father than they hate him, but it’s not worth taking the risk,” he says, frantically stuffing the last few unopened letters back into the post-sack.

I keep my expression carefully blank and focus on disposing of the letters that have been opened without touching them. It’s not easy to do that under time pressure; Edward ends up doing most of the work, but we have everything tidied away with two minutes to spare.

It’s just a pity that the Alchemy labs are in the basement, about as far away from here as you can get without leaving the Academy’s main building. We’ll have to run. And while my leg is a lot better than it has been, I still don’t think I can run on it.

“You go ahead,” I tell Edward, hobbling downstairs as quickly as I can. “Tell Mary I’ll be a couple of minutes late – “

“I don’t want to leave you – “

“How much trouble am I going to get into just walking through the Academy?”

Edward smiles wryly. I’m pretty sure he’s mentally listing the many forms of unlikely trouble I could encounter and barely refraining from doing so out loud. “You’ll be faster if you lean on me instead of the crutch,” he says.

I try it; it’s awkward for a few seconds, but he’s right. “Not fast enough to be on time.”

“Fast enough to only be two minutes late. And Mary isn’t that strict about it, unlike certain other teachers I could mention.”

He means Electra. She gave Elsie detention for being one minute late to our last Countering Magical Effects lesson. Elsie is still traumatised, and it made me wonder why I ever decided that she might not be quite as bad as she seems.

Though considering how bad she seems, that isn’t as strong a statement as it should be.

“Fine,” I mutter, and shut up to focus on hobbling faster.

Edward’s prediction is unsurprisingly accurate: we’re two minutes late, and Mary is completely fine with it. We’re not even the last there; Hannah is nowhere to be seen as I ease myself into my usual seat. She runs in as Mary is explaining what we’ll be working on today, out of breath and dishevelled. Mary is fine with that, as well.

I struggle to focus. I nearly cause a small explosion before Edward stops me from adding twice the amount of greenroot powder I should. “Sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t thinking – I shouldn’t be mixing reactive substances when I’m barely functioning – “

“Don’t worry,” Edward says. “You’re not a proper alchemist until you’ve acquired burn injuries from your mistakes.”

“Have you ever – “

“I am very much not a proper alchemist.”

I gasp theatrically. “Edward Blackthorn, not an expert in an area of magic? Stars, what has happened to the world?”

He laughs. “Alchemy doesn’t count as magic. Anyway, the amount of time you need to spend learning alchemy before you can do anything useful with it isn’t worthwhile when you can just hire someone else to brew for you.”

“That does rather assume that you have the sort of money that lets you hire a professional alchemist.”

Edward shrugs. “Well. I do.”

One day I’ll make him understand that not having enough money is actually a concern for a lot of people.

“Can you focus on the task, please?” Mary says. I nearly jump; I did not hear her come up behind us. “You don’t want to let that mixture congeal.”

“I’m sorry – “ I stammer, “I – it’s my fault. I nearly added too much greenroot powder.”

Edward says nothing, but grabs a slitted spoon and begins rhythmically stirring our half-formed concoction.

“It’s okay, Tallulah. I know you can’t be at your best right now, with everything else you’re dealing with.”

She’s trying to be sympathetic and helpful, but it doesn’t work. I don’t want her sympathy.

That sets the theme for the day: I struggle to pay attention to lessons. Every few minutes one of the less pleasant letters I was sent flashes through my mind, disrupting my focus and unsettling me. I find myself wishing I had a selective memory so I could choose to forget all those things.

And when it’s not that it’s a vague ill-defined dread: is it of my mother’s response to my letter, or just Edward’s paranoia finally getting to me? I don’t even know.

I’ve never really had problems focusing before, and I don’t like it. I keep expecting to be called on to answer a question I haven’t even heard at any second. Thankfully we don’t have Spells or Countering Magical Effects today, and Felicity and Electra are the only two teachers likely to pick on me in that way. And it’s the weekend tomorrow.

I’m not behind on homework. I’ll be able to rest.

I hope I will, anyway; any time I’ve thought that recently, the next disaster has been waiting just around the corner. Is it better that I’m half-expecting another disaster now, or worse because I have to deal with the anticipation? Stars. Why can’t I just have a normal life –

Because I chose this. Because I chose to be friends with Edward Blackthorn, knowing the consequences. It is worth it.

I don’t know if I can make it through the next disaster.

But the next disaster doesn’t come that day. I sleep in the following morning – that is, I wake at seven but allow myself to doze for a couple of hours before dragging myself out of bed. I make it to the bathroom without my crutches. It feels good to be able to walk mostly-normally again; you don’t appreciate things like that until you’ve lost them.

I carry the crutches down to breakfast – I don’t want to find myself needing them again and realise they’re several flights of stairs away.

Edward is sitting at our usual table, paging through a thick tome of some sort; he’s clearly long finished eating and has been waiting for me.

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I treat myself to a proper cooked breakfast, since for once I’m getting breakfast late enough that it's ready. It has been far too long since I had bacon.

“What are you reading?” I ask Edward, setting down my tray opposite him.

He tilts the book to show me the cover: A Study in Twelve Examples of the Elementary Theory of Magical Security. I guess that is something he needs to know. “Sleep well?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, sitting down.

“And no crutches!”

I grin. “No crutches.”

“I’ve been thinking about this afternoon,” Edward says. “I think it should be safe for you to come with me – I remembered I have an old sample of my mother’s handwriting, and it matches up precisely with that letter – not that that’s perfect proof, of course – and in the worst-case scenario the fact they won’t be expecting two of us means we have a better chance of being able to summon help.”

I nod, not wanting to try and speak around a mouthful of delicious bacon.

“But… I can’t guarantee your safety if you come with me. I suppose, though, if we’re going to be partners, I can hardly forbid you from taking a risk I’m willing to take myself. You know the situation – do you want to come?”

It’s not a trap. I told him that myself. But when he’s asking me directly like that, having laid out exactly what could go wrong, it seems different. It’s not a trap, and he doesn’t want to go alone.

“Yes,” I say. “I want to come.”

Edward smiles. “Meet at one-and-thirty by the main gate?”

That’s slightly redundant in the end, considering we spend the rest of the morning together, reading in comfortable silence. Edward has his examples of magical security and I have a collection of essays on justice throughout the centuries. It’s surprising how ancient and obscure many of the country’s laws are, and how many lingering remnants of Temple influence can be found in the current justice system.

It's a good morning. I wish more mornings could be like this.

Afternoon inevitably comes, though, and too soon it’s one-and-thirty. We sign out and set off. It’s colder than it has been outside: we’ve had an unseasonably warm few months, but now the autumn chills are starting to set in. I wish we’d learnt warming-spells in class by now.

Edward, being himself, casts one for me and resolves to teach me at the earliest opportunity. There are advantages to having a magical prodigy for a best friend.

“It’s busy,” he says as we reach the entrance to the park. “Good. More witnesses.”

I give him a death stare.

The bench where Edward and his mother arranged to meet is in the centre of the park, beside the main path. It’s visible from about ten metres away. A blonde woman in a thick fur coat sits alone on it; no-one else appears to be lurking nearby.

“See?” I say. “It’s fine.”

“The best way to ambush someone is to be somewhere else altogether and then teleport in when you’re given a signal.”

“It’s not too late to just go back,” I offer half-jokingly.

“I’m not going back.” He takes a tentative step forward.

The woman sees us approach and lifts a hand in greeting. Edward waves back. None of us speak until we’re within a couple of metres of each other.

“Edward?” she says, her Sirgalese accent obvious.

“Yes,” he replies, voice tense. “And you’re… Mother?”

And suddenly she’s standing and he’s crossed the last two metres and they’re hugging. Edward looks so young and vulnerable wrapped in her arms. I almost regret coming; this feels too intimate a moment for me to witness.

I hesitate, lingering awkwardly, feigning interest in the leaves of the nearest tree.

“And you must be – “ Edward’s mother releases him, glances at me, and freezes for a second. “You must be the famous Tallulah, then,” she continues smoothly. I almost think I imagined it, but no: of course she’d be surprised by her son’s choice of friend.

I laugh awkwardly. “Yes. Yes, I’m Tallulah. It’s very nice to meet you.” Edward’s told me a lot about you, is the natural continuation of those empty pleasantries, but it’s also very much not true. All I know about her is that she’s Sirgalese, she cheated on Lord Blackthorn with his butler and got caught, and that she’s –

Oh. She’s a sensitive. Maybe that was what surprised her: she looked at me and saw my magic, saw whatever’s strange or wrong about it. Is there a way to ask her about it without ruining her reunion with Edward?

“Likewise, I’m sure.” She holds out a hand; I shake it. “I owe you a great debt.”

I stare at her blankly for a second.

“I must thank you for delivering my letter. Without that I might never have had this opportunity.”

Oh. That. I guess it is pretty important to her. “You’re welcome,” I say, and then find the mask of courtesy again: “It was the least I can do. Edward has been such a good friend to me.”

“I’d expect nothing less of my son,” she replies.

Edward doesn’t look particularly proud to hear that; despite the hug he’s still tense, awkward.

“Tell me, then,” his mother says. “How have you spent the years since I last saw you?”

That does nothing to ease the tension.

“I’ve been learning,” Edward says. “Growing up, I suppose.”

“Without me. I’m sorry. I should have been there.”

I pray Edward has the self-restraint to not voice his agreement with that sentiment. He thankfully keeps his silence.

“I missed you. I love you.”

“I missed you too,” Edward admits. “But – “

I can’t work out whether what he’s about to say is something that needs saying or something that could ruin everything.

His mother doesn’t say anything, just watches him in silence.

“But it’s been ten years. I’ve grown and changed so much. We can’t – “

“I know. I’m not foolish enough to think I can just walk back in as if I’ve never been gone. But… I’d like to be part of your life still. If you’ll have me.”

Why am I here? This isn’t a conversation I have any right to be part of.

“I’d like that too,” says Edward.

I can’t quite read the expressions that flash across his mother’s face as she hears that. Relief? Happiness? Triumph, even? “Where do we start?” she asks.

“Where have you been?” Edward asks. “You know more or less what I’ve done, but I know nothing about what you’ve done.”

She shrugs. “There isn’t really much to tell. I went back to Sirgal after the divorce. Stayed with my parents for a few years, until the talk of how I really ought to be doing something more with my life got too much to bear. Worked a few odd jobs here and there. Came back to Rasin two or three years ago, after the Sirgalese government got, how shall I say… a little too insistent that I put my talents to use in their service.”

It takes me a little while to parse that: she must be referring to her abilities as a sensitive, and how useful they could be for the classification of artefacts and enchantments, for ward-breaking, for magical research.

“I’m working for the Port Authority in Ridgeton now. I managed to get a couple of weeks’ leave to come to Ryk, though, to find you.”

It’s a thin sketch of a story, and it doesn’t take too much effort to read between the lines and see that Sylvia Froment’s life has been lacking purpose and direction for the last decade. I feel an unexpected pang of sympathy for her.

“What about Carter?” Edward asks suddenly. “Did you and he…”

She shakes her head. “Whatever we had, it wasn’t enough to make it through the divorce and the scandal. We quarrelled over who was to blame, what we should do next, everything, and when I left for Sirgal I never spoke to him again.”

Carter, I gather, must be the butler she had an affair with.

“Did you love him?”

Sylvia hesitates. “In a way. I’d describe it more now as desire. Attraction. Have you – I’m sorry, I know this is an awful question for a mother to ask her son, but have you ever been in love?”

Edward shakes his head.

“But I thought – you and Tallulah – “

“No,” we say at the same time. I can’t help laughing.

“We’re friends,” I say. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “If you want to keep it a secret – if you don’t want the world knowing – I won’t tell anyone. I’m your mother. You can trust me.”

I don’t think Edward does trust her; I know by now how hard it is to earn his trust. But it doesn’t matter in this case: “No. Really. We’re friends,” he insists.

I’m not sure that’s going to convince anyone. It’s surprisingly hard to deny you’re in a relationship if people are already convinced you are.

Sylvia shrugs. “I was going to say. If you have been in love, if you’ve felt that way about someone, then you’ll understand.”

“I… I don’t think I do,” Edward says slowly. “What about my father? Did you love him?”

“I did, once. At least I loved the idea of him.”

“And the reality?” I ask, not sure that either of us want to hear the answer.

“It is very difficult to love your husband when he barely seems to know you exist.”

There’s bitterness there, definitely: the decade-old wounds have not fully healed. And I can’t blame her one bit. It would be just like him to never acknowledge his wife, and it must have been awful for her to live with him, longing for him to notice her.

But while I’m removed enough from this old drama that I can sympathise with Edward’s mother and add another black mark to my mental tally for his father, Edward has no such advantage.

“He has his duty,” he says tentatively. “To his king and country. Without his work – “

“Please, do not excuse that man to me.” Her words are relatively mild, but I can sense a decade of anger stored behind them. “I didn’t come here to rehash ancient history. I came to build something new with my son.”

Edward nods once. “I’m sorry. I just want to understand.”

“Some day, you will. For now, tell me: how are you finding your lessons?”